


The Whistle

by Pouler (poulerslashes)



Series: Drabbles and Shorts [9]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Established Relationship, Future Fic, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 02:27:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3157739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poulerslashes/pseuds/Pouler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The look on Nishinoya’s face went from mirth to apprehension in the amount of time it took for him to blink. (Set in the same continuity as "Home Team")</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Whistle

They were laughing together in the kitchen when the phone rang. Asahi would never remember what they were laughing about, only that the look on Nishinoya’s face went from mirth to apprehension in the amount of time it took for him to blink.

"Yes. I understand. I’ll be there," Nishinoya said, and he hung up the phone.

Asahi dried his hands above the sink. “Something wrong?”  
  
"Coach says we need to have a team meeting with the board," Nishinoya said lightly, but Asahi knew him well enough to see that it was forced.

"It’s your day off, though. Is it serious?" Asahi asked.

"I dunno." Nishinoya headed out of the kitchen and crossed the main room toward their bedroom. "He sounded kind of unhappy."

Asahi followed, watched quietly as Nishinoya changed. “One of the team in trouble, maybe?”  
  
"Maybe," Nishinoya agreed as he stuck his head through a white undershirt. "Okuma has been messing around a lot lately." He pulled on a white button-up. "Shit, maybe I should wear a tie."  
  
"I think you look fine," Asahi told him.

Nishinoya sighed and ran fingers through his hair. “Alright,” he said. “I guess I should see if I can catch the next train.”  
  
"I could drive you," Asahi suggested.

"No, it’s okay. Hopefully it won’t take too long and I’ll be back before dinner."

At the front door Nishinoya went up on his tiptoes and Asahi bent at the knees to kiss him. “Good luck,” he said, and Nishinoya grinned.

"Don’t look like that, Asahi-san," he said, and he reached up to rub between Asahi’s eyebrows with his thumb. "It’ll be fine," Nishinoya assured him. He stepped through the door and waved out on the breezeway before turning away.

~

He was gone a long time. Asahi cleaned the rest of the kitchen, prepped ingredients for dinner, cleaned the kitchen again, then paced around the living room for nearly thirty minutes before he decided to start vaccuuming.

It was nearly six o’clock before Nishinoya returned, and when he heard the key in the lock Asahi jumped up in relief from where he sat on the couch pretending to watch TV and anxiously rubbing his thumbs over the smooth spots on the remote control. Asahi’s relief evaporated when Nishinoya came in and he saw the look on Nishinoya’s face. He hadn’t seen the look in a very long time, but he knew it well; it was etched in his memory as clear as the first time they had kissed. It was the same look Nishinoya had fixed on him when he’d quit the team in high school. Asahi felt his heart sink like a lead weight through his diaphragm into his stomach, where it sat like a brick.

"What’s wrong?" he asked finally. "What happened?"

"Let’s move," Nishinoya said.

"What?" That took Asahi aback. "I thought you liked this place. It’s so close to the station and–"

"No," Nishinoya said sharply, "let’s move to Australia or America or something. I’m fucking  _sick_  of this  _fucking country._ " He ended the sentence by slamming his fist into the wall of the foyer so hard that the plaster cracked and buckled.

"Yuu!" Asahi crossed over to him quickly and took Nishinoya’s hands in his own. "What happened!"

Nishinoya looked up at him, his face rent with fury and something else. He seemed smaller than usual to Asahi, like a spring wound much too tightly. “Yuu,” Asahi said again, more gently, “tell me.”

Nishinoya looked at their hands between them. After a moment he seemed to deflate slightly. “It wasn’t a team meeting,” he said. “It was just me and the coach and some rep from the company.” He seemed to struggle with what to say next. Asahi waited for him to put the words together. “There was a picture in some magazine,” he said finally.  
  
"A picture?"  
  
"I don’t know. They showed me the picture, but I don’t know what magazine it was."

"What kind of picture?"

“ _God_ , it wasn’t even anything,” Nishinoya said angrily, “we were just out having lunch somewhere!”

"Wait." Asahi took a step back, dropped Nishinoya’s hands. "It was of us?" They were always so careful in public.

"Yeah, but, honestly it wasn’t  _anything_ , really. But someone’s aunt’s brother’s wife or something saw it and it got back to the board and now–”

Asahi felt for a moment like he was having trouble breathing. It wasn’t that they were a secret, not really. Nishinoya’s teammates knew. His coach knew. Their families knew. Asahi had told some people at work and the guys on his neighborhood team. But they were careful, they were private – and this was different, this was much different. Suddenly it felt like the whole world was looking in through the window. “What did they say?” he blurted.

Nishinoya was looking at him with an unreadable expression. “They said this sort of lifestyle is not a reflection of the company’s position.” He rubbed the knuckles of the hand he’d used to hit the wall. “They said I need to make a statement or I’m off the team.”

Asahi took another step back. It felt like the floor was churning underneath him. Seven years they’d been together, seven years of his life spent waiting for the other shoe to drop and here it was. He leaned against the wall. They were still young, he rationalized. Somehow it didn’t make the hurt any less piercing.

"Asahi-san?" Nishinoya said, cutting into the dark lament that was swallowing him up.

"Maybe it’s for the best," Asahi said haltingly.

"What?"

Asahi heard the tone of shock in Nishinoya’s voice, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at him. “We knew this would happen eventually,” he said. His voice was growing steadier, even though his insides roiled with misery. “I guess we’re lucky it happened this way.”

"Asahi-san, what are you saying?"

Asahi finally chanced a look at him. Nishinoya stood with his fists at his side, eyes blazing. It was almost enough to make him nostalgic, Asahi thought absurdly. “Well,” he said, “You’re still at the beginning of your career. You have time to fix things. And I can move back home, so you can keep the place.”

Nishinoya looked for a moment like he had been punched in the face. Then the anger returned, and he clenched his teeth together. “Is that how you really feel?” His voice was measured and even, which made Asahi feel somehow worse.

Asahi didn’t say anything. He knew his will would shatter, and in the next moment he’d be at Nishinoya’s feet, begging him to choose – to choose him over volleyball, to choose their stupid little life instead of competitions all over the country and maybe around the world.

"Well, then," Nishinoya sneered. He turned on his heel back toward the door.

Asahi’s resolve broke momentarily. “Yuu,” he whispered, “please…”  
  
"I can’t even  _look_  at you right now,” Nishinoya said, and he went out the door and slammed it behind him.

Asahi covered his face in his hands and slid down the wall of the foyer until he was sitting with his head between his knees. He felt like passing out. He almost wished he would.

When the moment had passed and he gathered up his composure enough to pick himself up off the floor, Asahi went back into the kitchen. He needed a drink. Maybe a cup of tea? Maybe a shot of whiskey. But when he opened the fridge he saw the food he had prepped for their dinner – chopped vegetables, chicken breast, a marinade of Nishinoya’s invention – the blackness swallowed him up again. What use was it now? Suddenly furious, he grabbed the food out of the fridge and dumped it immediately into the garbage. Asahi grabbed a glass and poured water into it haphazardly. He raised the glass to his lips and noticed the surface of the water was trembling. He threw the glass onto the floor with a snarl.

His vision blurred and he realized he was crying. The anger left him and he deflated like an old balloon. Asahi left the kitchen and somehow made it to the couch. He laid down, curled up in a ball, and didn’t move again.

~

"Asahi-san. Asahi."

Asahi groaned and covered his face with his hand. His neck hurt. His legs cramped from sleeping on the sofa. He blinked blearily and looked up. The apartment was dark, but he picked out Nishinoya’s silhouette crouching in front of the couch. As his eyes cleared he could see the vague outline of Nishinoya’s face close to his.

"You made a mess in the kitchen," Nishinoya said.

"Mm, sorry," Asahi mumbled, "I…" He remembered their conversation, and sat up abruptly. "Yuu!" he blurted, and he grabbed Nishinoya’s shoulders. "You came back!"

"Of course I did." Nishinoya reached over and clicked on the lamp on the end table beside the couch. Asahi blinked in the light. Nishinoya looked a little worse for wear, tired and unhappy, but he looked okay. And he didn’t look angry anymore.

Asahi was relieved. If they could still be friends after everything, then maybe–

"Asahi-san," Nishinoya said quietly, "I thought a lot about what you said."

Asahi exhaled. He clamped his hands together in his lap and told himself that he wasn’t going to cry again. That he was going to handle things like a man for once in his life. “And?” he said, glad his voice stayed steady.

Nishinoya sat next to him on the couch, which made it easier for Asahi to look away from him. “I couldn’t understand why you said it,” Nishinoya explained. “You said it like this–” he gestured around their apartment –”like this was nothing to you. It made me so upset.” Asahi leaned forward and stared at a point on the far wall, gripping his hands together painfully tight so that he wouldn’t betray his resolve and deny the accusation. “Then I thought about it a little more,” Nishinoya continued, “and I remembered what you said back then, when you left the team in high school.”

Asahi blinked. He turned slightly, looked at Nishinoya out of the corner of his eye.

Nishinoya’s shoulders were relaxed, the line of his body without tension. “I remembered that you said some things back then you didn’t mean, because you were upset, because you worried about dragging everyone down.”

Was he that transparent? Asahi bit his lip.

"I have to ask you, Asahi-san," Nishinoya said. He reached over and touched Asahi’s arm, slid his hand down to Asahi’s wrist. "Did you mean what you said earlier? Or are you trying to… I don’t know,  _save_  me from some sort of decision.”

Asahi’s breath caught. He shook his head, unsure what else to say.

Nishinoya let out a shaky sigh, and he gripped Asahi’s wrist tighter. “Asahi,” he said, “it’s true that volleyball’s important to me. It’s the only thing I’ve ever been good at.”  
  
Asahi wanted to tell him that he was good at a lot of things, but he just stared at the lithe fingers around his wrist and said nothing.

"And it’s true that, if I didn’t have it, it would be hard to live without it," Nishinoya admitted. "I would miss it every single day."

Asahi nodded. Tears winked back into his eyes despite his efforts. It was for the best, he told himself, it was for the best.

"But Asahi," Nishinoya said, and he grabbed Asahi’s shoulder and turned him to look. "Asahi," he said again, his voice catching, and Asahi saw tears clinging to Nishinoya’s lower lashes. "Asahi, I don’t think I could live at  _all_   without you!” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes to compose himself. “I think I would actually die,” he said, “I would shrivel up and dry out like a raisin.”

"Yuu," Asahi said finally, and he felt the tears spill over.

Nishinoya reached out and brushed them away. “So I called the coach and told him I quit.”

"You–" Asahi sat back in shock. "You what?"

"Fuck them," Nishinoya said. "Fuck them all. I don’t need them to play volleyball." He brushed Asahi’s hair back from his face. "There are other teams. But there’s no other you." He leaned forward and kissed Asahi lightly. "What other decision could I have made?"

Asahi let out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He grabbed Nishinoya and hugged him tightly, probably tighter than was really comfortable, but Nishinoya held him back just as hard.

"I’m sorry," Asahi said finally, when his voice came back, "I’m sorry that I fell apart, I’m sorry that you needed me to be strong for you and I just–"

"Asahi-san," Nishinoya said fiercely into his shoulder, "it’s okay. Just shut up." Asahi did, and they held each other in silence for a long time.

At length, Nishinoya broke the quiet. “I guess I have to find a real job now,” he said mildly, like it was just another day. Asahi started laughing, the stress of the day and severity of his relief almost enough to send him into hysterics. After a moment, Nishinoya laughed with him too, and he sat back on the couch and wiped at his face with both hands.

"Yeah, I guess so," Asahi said in a wobbly voice, which made Nishinoya laugh harder.

"Maybe I’ll get an office job," he said. "Can you imagine? Me in an office?"

Asahi’s sides were starting to hurt. “No, no, oh god, you’d be  _awful_.”  
  
"I know, right! They’d all kill me within five minutes!"

"Stop! Stop!" Asahi begged. He rubbed his face to swipe away the tears and snot. "It’s too much!"

The laughter died down between them. Nishinoya looked bright and happy, back to himself. Asahi reached forward and cupped Nishinoya’s cheek with his hand. “You’ll find something,” he said. “I’m sure one of the other teams would be glad to have you.”

Nishinoya leaned into his hand and smiled brilliantly at him, and Asahi’s heart caught, just as it had the first time, just as it had every time since.

"I ruined our dinner," he admitted quietly.

"Who the fuck cares anymore?" Nishinoya said. "Let’s go out."

Asahi allowed himself his first real burst of optimism. He reached forward and took Nishinoya’s hand. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s go.” Dinner first. Then they would clean up the kitchen. The rest they could figure out later.


End file.
